Skye Maelstrom Faust
Even now I can feel their eyes upon me. They are cold. They are
uncaring. Night and day I am watched. They observe me; my actions and
reactions. What will I do next? What will I do after that? They want
to study me.
I am an experiment. I am a precedent. I am a hero.
Day and night I am always seen. They wait for me to move. They wait for me to act. And I will not.
The rebellion in me cries out for them to leave me alone. It cries for peace. I cry for what might have been. And for what could yet be.
I am willing to do something. But not like this. Not now.
I must have a certain say over the conditions. I must be in control. After all, it is I who should decide the circumstances. It was I who forced my bringing here. It should be I who decides how I live here.
But I have no freedom.
How I long to be able to do things again. How I wish to walk alone. How I wish to run beyond these confines. I wish for these walls to be removed. It seems to them that I wish for an end to my existence. And yet I only wish for an end.
Death is a means and an end unto itself.
So be it.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living
or dead, is entirely coincidental. This story is a copyright of Skye
Maelstrom Faust (Michael Woods), 1998. All rights reserved.